


calcite

by buttonose



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Harry Styles - Freeform, cellphones but no cars, harry is a prince, he was super sheltered and she has seen to much, hope i can keep up with it, i should probably add a prologue of how they met eventually..., im just writing without editing until i finish the entire story, prince and the pauper love story, so bear with me and my gross typos, they're a cute match, they're from a place kinda like a modern camelot, this is gonna be pretty messy, zara is a peasant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 01:52:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8184565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonose/pseuds/buttonose
Summary: Basically, Zara has PTSD and Harry is a prince whose army destroyed her village long ago. They meet in a tavern when Harry is disowned and disinherited. Neither understand the heavy weight the other carries. This story is make-believe, H is based on Styles, Zara is made up. I'm just writing to fill my time, I don't know if this will go anywhere, but I'm just gonna go with it...





	

**Author's Note:**

> sorry, this is my first post ever...

=One=

In his room, she unclasps her bag, flips it upside-down and shakes out the contents. Lipstick tubes and a lighter bounce softly onto the carpet among old receipts and a crumpled box labeled Marlboro.   
What catches his eye are the stones that tumble out into the mess: one orange, another dusty pink, and a pale blue.  
She pushes away loose change and dollar bills, to grab the map. “If we take the train, it should only be a couple days. But it's not as luxurious as you may be accustomed to.” She says, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings.  
“I don't mind, I told you I want to experience your lifestyle.” Harry rolls one of the stones in his palm. “What do you do with the rocks in your purse?”  
“They're worry stones, a coping mechanism.”  
“Coping?”  
“Yes. Would you rather drive?”  
“What are you coping with?”  
“Harry, not everyone wants to talk about everything that goes on in their life, can we leave it at that?” Zara takes the stone from his hand and stuffs it into her pocket.  
Harry apologizes.

=Two=

Packing is simple for Zara: she folds a dress or two, a top, a skirt, rolls socks and stuffs them into her boots, and she tops it off with underwear.  
Harry struggles, he does not want to admit it, but this is still new to him, doing tedious tasks for himself. He likes to think that he respected his service staff by only giving them reasonable work, but it comes to show that no one is a good judge of their own actions.  
He huffs out a breath and reaches for his cell to ask Zara whether his struggle was reasonable.  
She laughs, “Harry, I'm not having any trouble, but I don't own nearly as much of anything as you.”  
Harry assesses his surroundings. “I don't know what it's like in San Leo. Is it hot?”  
“San Leo means ‘Saint of Sun,’ you know?” She pauses to untangle jewelry. “Bring a light sweater for the evenings.”  
He smiles. “Thank you.”  
“See you tomorrow, H.”

=Three=

Zara stands at the bottom of the steps leading up to his front door, thrumming her fingers against the railing. She carries a backpack made of burlap and worn leather. Her embroidered skirt kicks at her ankles from the heavy breeze.  
All at once, Harry shoves his door open, stuffs a chunk of fruit into his mouth, and squeezes his trunk through the doorway.  
“For someone who is unemployed, you sure do have a fancy trunk.” Zara doesn't smile whenever she makes offhanded comments about his mysterious wealth, but she also doesn't force anything out of him.  
“Guess I have trouble letting go of the old luxuries, but that's why we're traveling, isn't it?”  
“I wonder sometimes, why we met.” Zara says and Harry locks his door before following her down the dusty rue.  
“I don't.”  
“Why not? We're so different, you're the kind of boy who possesses nobility and the prince's companionship.”  
“Been there, done that, and believe me when I say it's not meant for me.”  
“You've met the prince?” Zara's pace slows.  
“Was closer with him than anyone, I guess.”  
“You left that kind of honor behind?” Her dark brows wrinkle together.  
“Let's leave it at that then. Not a topic I enjoy.” Harry smiles lightly, dirt blowing up into his hair.  
“Didn't mean to pry. I've just never seen him before, what's he like?” Zara adjusts the cord tied around her waist.  
Harry's eyebrows rise up, Zara mistakes it for exasperation.  
“Sorry, I should shut it, I just ramble away, don't I?” Her cheeks pink.

=Four=

The station is bustling, dust lifts from the ground by people rushing to buy last minute tickets.  
Harry and Zara weave their fingers together so as not to be separated. They have a strange sync about them. Near strangers, they don't even walk the same or know each other's favorite colors, but they can walk and talk smoothly together. They don't block the way of others when they pause to find their route on the large glowing board, Zara points it out.  
Date: Oct. 1  
Route: Blue Line- north to south  
Departs: 5:23  
€18  
“The train leaves in a few minutes. The booth is right there, I'll wait with our bags.” Zara says. She releases his hand and reaches for the handles of his bag in the other.  
For a second Harry pulls away, but with a furrow of his brows, he bows his head in temporary goodbye and does as he's instructed.  
The person in the ticket booth adorns red cheeks and a thick sweater.  
“I'm trying to go to San Leo.” Harry says.  
“Sure.” The clerk recites several different trip options, but stops midsentence. “Do you know which line you're taking?”  
“I swear, I just forgot. It was named by color.”  
“They all are. Do you remember when you were planning on leaving?”  
“Twenty minutes, I think.”  
“Well, there's an eastbound route and a southbound route, neither goes directly to San Leo, but they're both about the same. One is more scenic.”  
Harry glimpses back at Zara who is too far to answer the clerk. She seems like the type to take the scenic route. “I'll take the scenery.”  
He pays for two tickets on the Orange Line, €34 each. Not a big deal, his favorite scarf costs three times that.  
Zara smiles, loosely-woven poncho tickling her neck around the collar of her blouse. She asks Harry for the tickets.  
With a grin, he graciously bows, presenting the two slips of printed cardstock with a long orange stripe going down along the sides.  
“Babe, you didn't.”  
At first Harry takes her remark as lighthearted humor, but his dimples disappear when he sees her lips bunch into a purse. “This takes us to San Léo, what's wrong?”  
Zara clears her throat, dismissing her own disappointment. “Nothing, I'll be ok. Did you pay for it yourself? Orange Line has a higher King’s tax, you know that, right?”  
“It's nothing, don't worry about money.”  
Her eyebrows lift and her jaw almost drops, “H, how could anyone in this entire train station not worry about money?”  
His eyes drift over the surrounding bustle, families of four weaving through the crowded benches, dirt billowing under the warm street lamps, people young and old alike sitting on the ground as they await their trains. The business suited adults flow towards the opposite side of the station, people with gold earrings and clean shoes follow them. He looks down at his own boots, polished just a couple of days ago. He looks at Z’s boots: they're pointy like his, but the leather is dry, dirty, and chipped.

=Five=

“I've never been on a train.” Harry says, stowing his luggage.  
“Don't find that hard to believe. the king himself is probably among the many who beg to give you a ride.” Zara says.  
“You have no idea.” Harry smiles, but his dimples are not revealed.  
“Have you ever seen royalty? You're noble or something, it's obvious when you wear mass produced fashion on the daily. But have you ever been around the Prince?” Zara whispers the last word.  
Harry holds onto the same expression. “I used to be closer with the prince than you'd think.”  
“Really? What about Queen Anne? I heard she's a real lady.”  
“I wouldn't know about that.”  
“Well if you knew the prince, then you'd have to have met his guardian.” The light peeking through the window strides in diagonals over her face and Zara blinks to regain her vision.

=Six=

Every time the train jolts, Zara's teeth chatter. She does her best not to look out the window, but there are no blinds so she's forced to see the lush woodlands. Everything reminds her of her last night in a tent.  
The sky was something of ebony, far-spread stars peeking through like holes in the fabric of the universe. Teenagers from the village were crouching, almost crawling their way to the river, away from their sleeping parents. Children were snoozing, soft snores of the domesticated pets lulling them to sleep.  
The line-drying sheets billowed in the light breeze, everyone was calm. Fairies danced in the dreams of the people, their wings glowing gold.  
The wind carried the youthful laughter to the village. The reflections of soft, blue, rippling light of the faraway burning diamonds are swallowed into the red all at once. Flame licks up the sides of tents, eating away burlap sacks of grain rationed for the cold months to come. Red consumes the hamlet, a lion swallowing a mouse.  
The children melt, their mothers awake to their screams, their fathers are sucked into the burn. The adolescents run back to the clearing. Their tears shimmer with the reflection of dancing red light. The fire surges toward them, catching at the hems of their clothes. They run.  
Heat follows, even as they reach the city, across the stream and farther away than any of them have traveled without their tribe. Time passed uncounted, towns and cities blurred as they stopped moving; one-by-one they settled, except for one.  
Droplets of salt stuck to the dryness of Zara’s lips as she stared far out from the hills at the stone citadel peaking above the country.  
Droplets of salt stick to the dryness of her lips, once again, as she stares at the passing rush of green.

=Seven=

Zara wraps locks of her hair around her finger. She combs it through with her fingers, but her fingers curl around the ringlets, raising it higher, grasping it tightly, scraping at her scalp. She hasn’t left the kingdom since her fifteenth birthday. Her mind chases fragments of thoughts. The past and present blur.  
She sees pieces of burnt bodies, flesh charred. She hears the roll of the train over the rails. She feels the heat of the fire. She closes her eyes and the flames flicker, red. Harry’s head is on her knee, but she cannot feel it; cannot feel him.  
Her shoulders shake and her body tenses. Her ears are deaf to the screams she lets out.  
Zara’s hands are grabbed and she trembles once her eyes open. Harry has made a tissue of his sleeve, but the material is so thin her snot sticks to his arm.  
“What’s going on?” He says.  
Zara shakes her head and her body trembles for a moment, but then he speaks.  
“That’s ok, I’ll leave it. Just come here.” He lowers her forehead against his chest. His heartbeat echoes between her ears. Then he begins to hum, softly singing lyrics about unrequited love, a song he learned from his mother when she held him similarly.

=Eight=

Halfway to their stop, the pair sleeps against each other in the quiet cabin of the train. They are lulled into their content state by the rhythm of the train and the tracks running against themselves. Their hair tangles together, long curls only distinguishable by color.

=Nine=

The conductor shouts details of their whereabouts. The train is at the track’s end, ready to turn back. Several hours have passed and the sun now sits just atop the horizon, ready to dip into oblivion, making way for the moon.  
Harry and Zara wake with drowsy eyelids and sweaty necks. They find themselves on their feet with the train blowing past. Zara’s skirt billows, sucked by the vacuum force of the rushing carts. They pull their scarves higher onto their faces.  
“Do we need these maps?” Harry offers Zara the laminated shiny brochure with the city’s name splayed across the front.  
She laughs almost pretentiously. “Babe, I think I can get us to the only motel in town without getting lost.”  
His dimples pop into his cheeks. Zara admires his amusement at his own humiliation.  
“I’ve never really travelled into small towns before.” He flips a messenger bag over his sleeve. “It’s a good thing my first time is with someone as knowledgeable as you.”  
“Not the first time someone’s said that to me before.”  
“Oh, the scandal!” Harry cries sarcastically.

=Ten=

Zara’s right, she can get Harry to the two-story cottage with a small sign out front with hand-painted lettering dubbing it “The Coziest Dwelling” which seems to sit a few blocks from the main road of town.  
A stout, white-haired senior greets them warmly. “How are the adventures coming, Zara? We haven’t seen you on this edge of the king’s land in forever.” She says after being introduced to Harry as Madge, Zara’s old friend.  
The pride of a five-year-old with a blanket tied around their neck as a cape beams from Zara’s smile. “I’ve got pictures of places to show you Madge, each one more lavish than the last.”  
“You thinking of settling?” Her light eyes warm with maternal energy.  
“Would never abandon the gypsy blood in me, Ma, you know that.”  
“I can still hope. I’d love to see you with your beau here, and some adorable children running between your legs. Your mom would have loved to witness that.”  
“Madge you’ll make yourself cry.” Zara sweetly smooths the sleeve of Madge’s sweater. She then asks for a room, and Madge hands her one of the two copper keys hanging beside the door.

=Eleven=

“Madge seems to like you.” Zara teases Harry, calling him her beau behind the closed door of their quilted bedroom.  
(to be continued)

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: p-tired
> 
> hope you enjoyed x


End file.
